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AND 



OTHER POEMS 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2010 with funding from 
Thp Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/plantingcrossatsOOwebe 



Planting the Cross 
at Sewanee 



and 



Other Poems 



By 

Margaret Isabella Weber 



Nashville, Tenn. 
1904 



Two OuBies deceived 
uUN 29 1904 
n CoDVileht En'.ry 

CLASS ** XXo. :•: 

?^ ^C I 

6oPV B 






Copyrighted 1904, by Margaret Isabella Weber 



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Contents. 



Dedication, 

The Cross on the Mount of Hope, 

Planting the Cross at Sewanee, 

Little Eva and the Falling Stars, 

" Requiescat," . 

The Old and the New, . 

Victors on the Other Shore, 

Carol at Sunrise, 

Sweet Symphonies, . 

Little Robin's Palm Tree, 

Home-Coming, 



Pagb 

3 

5 
II 

13 
16 
21 

25 
27 

30 

33 

39 



planting tlf^ (UrmB at ^^faan^^ 



The Cross on the Mount of Hope'' 



The winter day was bright ; and blushing Morn, 
A-tip-toe rose to greet the up-risen Sun, 
Her eager bridegroom. Through the riven clouds, 
The sombre drapery of Night, he stole 
A side-long, loving glance, which wakened her. 
The early breeze those tattered curtains shook, 
And opened wide ; when lo ! the rosy Morn 
Appeared, and lighted up the scene. The shades 
Withdrew ; but tremulous, essayed to rise 
And bend their dusky forms in adoration. 
Insensate man ! God's first-day miracle 
Is wrought anew, as at creation's dawn. 
And every morning should command thy praise, 
••Let there be light!" Dear Lord, the fiat send 
Through minds chaotic ; make them now to see 
The Sun of Righteousness, and darkness flee 
Away ; and doubts, that shadow o'er the soul, 
Shall be transformed to Faith adoring ; so 
Thy Church shall be the loving bride of Christ. 



*The signification of the Indian " Sewanee " — the site of the University of 
the South. 



War-desolated earth, in contrast dire 

With pristine beauties of this winter day, 

Made one believe the world and heaven were not 

Attuned, or had not yet been reconciled. 

One look into eternal depths of blue 

Should raise rebellious hearts to harmony. 

The day was young, when up the "Mount of Hope," 

The "Mother Mountain," *came a trinal band 

Of priests. The high priestf vigorous then, and young; 

And strong and vigorous now, in faith and love. 

And all good works" to this wild mountain came, 

Together with a godly friend, and other 

Two, belonging to the band of priests — 

To plant the Cross, the emblem of their faith ; 

And consecrate anew the vast domain, 

Which Christian men had set apart long since 

For training Christian youth. Grim, ghastly war 

Had intervened ; and followers of the camp. 

For relics chipped away the corner-stone. 

Which had been laid by Churchmen, full of hope. 

With prayer and song and ornate ceremony. 

The South made promise of her ample wealth 



*The signification of the Indian " Sewanee " — the site of the University of 
the South. 

t Bishop Quintard, the second founder of the "University of the South." 



To find the needed gold ; and men foresaw 

A mighty enterprise assured, and praised ! 

Alas ! for schemes of man. War swept the gold 

Away. Oh, God ! if that were all ! but such 

A conflict, fratricidal, swept away 

The precious lives of men, the noblest men 

And best ; and sickness, sorrow, and the sword 

Left broken hopes, and broken hearts ; and Peace, 

The white-winged, hovered o'er the land no more ! 

The prelates, who this scheme at first advanced, 
Had passed away save two. A-weary some 
Of mortal strife — one on the battle-field.* 
With lion strength, and boldness for the truth, 
A little longer one survived, to show 
In his own life how much of sweetness comes 
From godlike strength.f One only now remains : 
He walks with God ; his feet upon the earth. 
But with his head and heart at home in heaven ; 
Ensample of a godly life : his crown 
Of glory on — a living benediction. J 
In our extremest need, God makes a way ; 
And He it was who chose a fearless man, 



*Bishop Polk, the founder of the "University of the South." 
+ Bishop Elliott, 
t Bishop Green. 



A man of wondrous faith and energy, 

To take the work again. For neither North 

Nor South ; yea ! of them both, and for them both, 

He stood within the gap, and tried to bring 

The sundered parts together ; struggling for 

The dear Southland, and for its elevation : 

When all was lost, or seeming so, he came, 

Reviving or renewing work, where He 

Had sent him ; trusting that the Lord would bless 

His own, who trusted Him. 

'Twas in the hush 
Of solitude. A rustling in the dead 
And huddled leaves, anon ; which soughing winds 
Had stirred, or startled hare with timorous leap 
Had crackled. Robin and wood-thrush had not 
Their matins yet begun : no sound was heard 
Of woodman's axe, nor hunter's winding horn, 
Nor farmer's lusty shout to lazy swain : 
Such sights and sounds ne'er follow in the track 
Of war ; e'en beasts and birds, affrighted, flee 
Away. Pandora's box is open wide, 
And even Hope escapes : and to the heart. 
When ushered in by waste, and want, and woe, 
Comes utter desolation. Lone, forlorn, 
A chimney stood ; and cold, and bare, the hearthstone. 



When man his brother man forgets to love, 

The Lord of Hosts sends forth His scourge of war; 

Here, where a holocaust to demon war 

Was made, 'twas meet to offer sacrifice 

Of prayer and praise to Him, the God of battles. 

He can the wrath of man restrain. And here. 

Where silence and where desolation reigned— 

Nature herself, with breath suspended, looked 

On death and devastation — here, the voice 

Of man was first to break the stillness, with 

A prayer. Like Winfrid, in the early Church, 

Called rightly Boniface, who left his home, 

And went from land to land, to plant the cross. 

The bishop, with untiring zeal, would urge 

The work, when cavillers discouraged him — 

With words like his — "What would ye have me do. 

But go in faith where God is calling me?" 

And so he came ; and, calling on his God 

To consecrate the oak, which long had been 

Defiled with heathen worship, he began 

To hew the tree, and make a Cross, to mark 

The place for worshipping the God of gods. 

Twelve feet in length, the apostolic twelve. 

And patriarchal, too, he made the Cross ; 

And then assembling round it those who were 



Of priestly line, and other faithful few, 
Recalling His own promise, that "Where two 
Or three are gathered in My name, there am 
I in the midst," he solemnly invoked 
The Lord to grant His blessing. 

How sublime 
The picture ! And what faith was there ! With all 
Their voices joined, they, after prayer, began 
The " Credo ; " then they waked the lonely echoes 
In the woods with their triumphant song, 

" Glory to God on high, and on the earth 
Be peace" — "be peace!" And angels caught their lost 
Refrain — Peace ! Peace ! 

And angels marked this spot ; 
For, strange and true it is, when years rolled by, 
And men began to build, without intent 
Or knowledge this was chosen for St. Luke's. 

"They builded better than they knew:" for on 
This very place the oratory stands. 
Where daily prayer and praise ascend to heaven ! 

Dear pastor, brother. Father now in God, 
The world will know thy worth, and not till then 
When to the church triumphant God shall call 
Thee ; and, with crown of stars of ransomed souls, 
Thou, too, wilt walk through Pearly Gates, adown 
The golden streets of New Jerusalem ! 



Planting the Cross at Sewanee 



ON the nth of October, 1865, the Rt. Rev. Charles Todd 
Quintard, S. T. D., L L. D., was consecrated Bishop of 
Tennessee, in St. Luke's, Philadelphia. So soon as he had 
taken his seat in the House of Bishops he wrote to his 
friend, the late Rev. Dr. Merrick, asking if he would go 
with him to Sewanee, a d undertake with him the re-estab- 
lishment of the work which had been begun for God by the 
Southern bishops before the war. The Rev. Dr. Merrick, the 
Rev. Thomas A. Morris, and Major Geo. R. Fairbanks, met 
the bishop by his appointment at Winchester, February, 1866. 
They rode up the mountain on horseback and found that 
all of the buildings which had been erected before the war 
on the site of the university had been destroyed by fire ; 
they found shelter for the night in an old log cabin, occu- 
pied by Mr. William F. Tomlinson. 

On the day following their arrival Bishop Quintard caused 
a rustic cross of oak to be made, twelve feet high, and erected 
it on the highest point of the domain. Around this cross a 
little band assembled, while a few of the mountaineers looked 
on with lively interest, having witnessed, in i860, the grand 
ceremony pf laying the corner-stone. 

The bishop recited the Nicene Creed, and, kneeling on 



LcfC. 



the ground, prayed Almighty God to give them "grace to 
perceive and know what things they ought to do, and strength 
faithfully to perform the same." Then the woods were made 
to ring with that grand old hymn to the Trinity, " Glory be 
to God on High ! " 

On this very spot the Theological Seminary now stands, 
and in justice to the Bishop of Tennessee, be it said, that 
without his extraordinary efforts for many years at home 
and abroad, in the interest of this university, there would 
not be found to-day one stone upon another. 



This lovely child was lent to the earth ; 

A link to the sky was given ; 
And the day of her death was the day of her birth, 

An angel was born in heaven ! 
We'll go to the Savior, like Jairus of old ; 

He comforts him who weepeth ; 
His answer receive, " Only believe ! " 

"The maid is not dead, but sleepeth!" 



Discord reaches not so far as harmony: Happy 
thought, if earth's discordant notes are lost, and the har- 
monies of life alone reach heaven's ear. 



Little Eva and the Falling Stars 



I. 

" Let me catch a star ! 

Let me catch only four! 
Dear mamma, oh ! please, 

I'll ask for no more ; 
One, two, three, four, before they have passed, 
I'll show you, sweet mamma, how I'll hold them fast." 
And with wee, tiny fingers, she clasped on my table, 
Saying "see now, you know, my brother is able 
To fasten them so, with a glass underneath. 
And a glass on the top, all around in a wreath, 
For a breast-pin, mamma, and rings for my ears ; 
Oh ! that will be lovely," and she laughed through her tears 
That made her eyes glisten with heavenly light. 
"Say yes, do mamma, and awake me to-night, 
When the stars are all falling — oh! wh'^n will it be?" 
And my darling jumped up in her innocent glee 
So rich and so happy, with treasures untold, 
Bright jewels from Heaven of silver and gold. 



II. 

" Go to sleep, baby, 

Mamma will awake 
And count the clock strike 

Till the time it will take 
Old Leo to climb up the ramparts again ; 
I'll watch the gold sickle in his long silver mane ; 
And when- 1 can see the bright flash of his tail, 
I'll look to the east, the sooner to hail 
The great meteors. Your mamma will call you. 
Sleep, baby, sleep ! You shall then have all you 
Can gather and hold." Shall I tell her the truth? 
That what she calls stars are not stars, forsooth. 

III. 
Too soon it will come. 

Or it comes not at all ; 
We still reach for stars. 
Or for moons do we call ; 
Too soon we forget the bright joys of our youth ; 
Too soon, alas ! we must learn bitter truth. 
The tired hand clasps, the weary heart grasps 

Still, still for the moon ; 
The stars we have caught no pleasure have brought- 

Evanishing soon. 
The light had gone out when we looked about : 
Weep as we must, we found nothing but dust : 
Such is life's boon. 



IV. 
So I said to my child, 
" I know of a sphere 
Where all is made right 

That goes wrong with us here. 
These stars you can't hold ; they are not true gold ; 

They are stones and gas. 
Will you not wait till we reach Heaven's gate ? 
Starry crowns there await the good as the great." 

Alas ! ah, alas ! 
Like the overgrown child she looked up and smiled, 
"I don't want to wait!" 



Sitting dreaming in the gloaming. 

In the nook I love the best, 
Oft my thoughts go sadly roaming 

Till they find thee, sweet Heart-Rest ! 
Back into the past they take me, 

Wandering through life's winding ways. 
Into sunlight, when they make me 

Soon forget the cloudy days. 

if yf ^ 

The invisible guard of one angel is worth more than 
a whole armory of defense. 



" Requiescat 



>> 



Sweet friends, in heaven, or on the earth, 
To-day for us there is no dearth 
Of love. My soul is full of song ; 
I would the harmony prolong ; 

For friends, I'd pray; 

If foes, I'd say 

'''Requiescat.^' 

This little requiem is sung 

When hopes are crushed, and hearts are wrung; 
When weeping friends close tearless eyes 
That ope so soon in Paradise. 

No need to pray 

For them and say 

'^ Requiescat." 

Some that are dead, to me still live; 
While some that live no earnest give ; 
The living dead — so dear, so dear ; 
Though not a tear has dropped on bier, 

For them I pray; 

For them I say 

'"' Requiescat." 



i6 



I see eternal depths of blue 
Without a fleck. See heaven through ; 
To all amid that shining throng, 
Superfluous seems such soothing song. 

What need to pray 

For them, and say 

*''Requiescat" 

My father there, my mother, too ; 
I know I see, or hope I do : 
One died so lonely; weary one, 
With care and work forever done. 

In life, I'd pray, 

Not death, I'd say 

'^Requiescaty 

I love you, that you gave me birth, 
Albeit to stay awhile on earth, 
That's tottering with its weight of sin ; 
For, here, we life indeed begin, 
Where none need say. 
Where none need pray 
'^ Requiescat" 

n 



I love you with an aching heart ; 
Broken, I think ; at birth in part : 
Though never here I feel heart whole, 
This life is matrix for the soul. 

Then, sorrow, cease ; 

In heaven there's peace ; 
''Requiescaty 

My brothers, sisters, are you there, 
After a life of moil and care? 
God grant that we united stand, 
At last, in heaven, at His right hand. 

Can we now pray. 

Can we now say, 

'■'■ Requiescat?" 

One sister did herself enshroud : 
'Tis pitiful ; the heart is bowed ; 
In thinking of her loneliness : 
Sweet grass or flowers in wilderness. 

When winds do blow, 

Oh ! whisper low, 

" Reqidescat." 



i8 



For baby brother, all alone, 

Where piteous forests make a moan ; 

The earth upon thy bosom lies 

So deep, thou couldst not hear my cries. 

Thy mother wings 

Her flight, and sings, 

"" Requiescat." 

And thou, who promised once to wait, 
And watch for me at heaven's gate, 
I know I'll find thee there above. 
Where all is peace and joy and love. 

We'll meet again ; 

For me, say, then, 

^*Requiescat." 

The flowers you gave with dying hand ; 
Those that none else could understand. 
When, as you plucked them one by one, 
And gave them me, when day was done ; 
The light gone out — but love alone, 
Supernal light, within that shone ; 
To me they sigh, 
" Heart rest is nigh ;" 

*^ Requiescat" 

19 



And thou, my friend, and more than friend, 
Who found true peace before the end, 
And tried to teach me all thy lore ; 
I missed thee, when at heaven's door 
We parted ; and I miss thee more. 
And con thy love and lessons o'er. 

For me, still pray ; 

Ask Christ to say 

"" Requiescat." 

Oh ! hopes that die, and griefs that live, 
And joys that life will never give ; 
Shadows, that fall from light unseen. 
So dark, we stumbling walk between — 

Hence, hence away — 

Leave me to pray 

''Requiescaty 

And now, my heart, we, two, can rest ; 
We, two, can fill an empty nest, 
If God so will ; and sing away ; 
Like tired children worn with play 
Sing to themselves some little lay ; 
Till soothing sleep will hush for aye. 
We'll sob our broken notes, and say. 
Dear heart, to me, 
And I to thee, 
A II Saints' Day. "■Requiescat. ' ' 



The Old and the New 



The King is Dead! Long Live the King!' 



I heard the Old Year moan and sigh, 
I heard the Old Year groan and die, 
While wailing winds went soughing by, 

Out in the sobbing rain — 
Old Year, why art thou moaning so? 
We are content that thou shouldst go ; 
We tired of years long, long ago ; 

To die must be a gain. 

Out of the death grows life anew ; 
Out of the false there comes the true ; 
Out of the Old Year springs the new; 

Thou'lt come again, Old Year. 
Into the dark alone thou'lt go, — 
Why art thou sighing, sobbing so? 
The One above keeps watch below. 

He lives — need never fear. 



A rest and change ; all things anew ; 
They'll live again, the false and true. 
If only good lived in the new, 

Our many derelictions 
Would count but little in the end ; 
And truth from error would forefend ; 
In life or death, sweet heaven would send 

Us many benedictions. 

Out of the night will come the day; 

Out of the dust, out of decay. 

Will come the buds and blooms of May ; 

Only a change, remember — 
When every flow'ret censer swings, 
And warbling bird its anthem sings. 
And to the heart such gladness brings. 

It soon forgets December. 

Hark ! on the air, I hear a bell — 
Tis "twelve o'clock, and all is well!" 
The watchman's cry — Old Year farewell. 

Out in the sobbing rain ; 
No passer-by I see on street ; 
Hark ! now I hear the tramping feet. 
But cannot see for storm and sleet, 

With face against the pane. 



The year is dead, Oh, no ! Oh, no ! 
The year still lives, Oh, ho ! Oh, ho ! 
The rain and wind have ceased, and so, 

Long life, New Year, to you ! 
All sounds are hushed, above, below ; 
Soft, on the pane, the snow! the snow! 
A winding sheet that husheth all, 
In lowly hut or lordly hall — 
A winding sheet for the Old Year, no ! 

A mantle for the New. 

Oh ! bright New Year, with snow-white train, 
Oh ! glad New Year, you've come again : 
Covering the earth, its every stain. 
With snow-white train from mount to main — 

May good live on in you. 

The beautiful and true ! 

Long life, long life to you ! 
Oh ! bright New Year, Oh ! glad New Year, 
'Tis not too soon for hearty cheer. 
Our requiem for the dying year, 

Reveille for the new! 

The beautiful, the true ! 

Long life, long life to you I 



23 



Life out of death, Oh ! crown of thorn ! 
Oh! sacred brow, all bleeding, torn; 
Thou Man of many sorrows, born 

To give us life eternal. 
Grant to us life indeed, we pray ; 
Keep us along this death-life way, 
Till death is dead in life, we pray ; 

Oh love, oh joy supernal ! 



The master of music and art. 

Caught the refrain 

Of a heavenly strain ; 

And it echoed again 

From the soul to the brain, 

Till it broke the sweet chords of his heart. 

^ ^ yf 

Oh ! aching heart ! 

Oh ! breaking heart ! 

Life we can not understand ; 

But the vision will be clearer. 

If we hold the Father's hand. 

^ ^ ^ 

Seek to be happy, by making others so ! 
24 



Victors on the Other Shore 



(Lines Read at the Decoration of the Confederate Graves 
AT Nashville, Tenn., 186-.) 



Not the vanquished — No, for victors 
Bring I laurel wreaths to-day ; 

Not the living — but the deathless 
Heroes who have passed away. 

Hail my brothers marching onward, 
Onward on the other shore ! 

May ye scale the walls of heaven ! 
Victors then for evermore. 

List ! your deeds are not forgotten ; 

Age and youth meet here to-day; 
Some to bring you wreaths of roses, 

Some to bring you crowns of bay. 

Laurel wreaths from distant mountain, 
Waving palms from ocean's shore — 

Emblems meet, I bring for heroes — 
Heroes are ye evermore. 



True, ye heard no shouts of triumph ; 

Only wailing — only woe — 
As ye watched the blood-red sunset ; 

But we see the afterglow. 

And, my brothers, now we hail you 
Victors on the other shore ! 

May ye scale the walls of heaven ! 
Victors then for evermore. 



Be strong, ye Tennesseans, 

Whenever in the right ; 
Like our immortal Jackson, 

Be valiant in the fight ; 
And give the oppressed your succor : 

Make ever Right your might. 



Bring a broken life to the "Light of Light" — and 
God's prism lets the glory through. 



a6 



Carol at Sunrise 



I know, I know, 

Where zephyrs blow, 
And the teeming turf upheaves; 

Our Mother Earth 

Is giving birth 
To violets under the leaves. 

Silent and shy, 

No human eye 
Will discover her charm, I ween ; 

The full-blown rose 

In secret grows. 
And bursts from the bud unseen. 

I see, I see 

On bush and tree 
The tiny leaflets quiver ; 

And the shimmering light 

In a dance of delight 
A-gleaming across the river, 

Lighting the spire 

A ball of fire- 
Glancing from turret and tower ; 

And gilding the spray 

Where the dew-drops lay, 
It shivers in golden shower. 

27 



I feel, I feel 

That woe and weal 
In life must be allied ; 

The shades of night, 

The bright sunlight, 
Are lying side by side. 

Away, away 

They seem to play 
" Hide and seek," on yonder hill 

Alway, alway, 

Till perfect day. 
We'll find them together still. 

I hear, I hear 

The sweet notes clear 

Of a bonny bird that sings 
To her little brood 
As they take their food 

Twittering under her wings. 
Ah, mother bird. 
Your song I've heard ; 

And I sang it once — my best ; 
Some bright, bright day 
They'll fly away, 

And leave you the empty nest. 



I pray, I pray, 

By night, by day, 
For my nestlings, where they be. 

Dear God above, 

I know such love 
Should alone belong to thee ; 

And so I pray 

By night, by day, 
That Thy many gifts of love 

May not alway 

Lure me away 
From the Giver of Good above. 

Rhythm imitated from Bishop Cox's hymn . 



We now can see the dawn of better days : 
Look at the South from shore to shore, 
Her night of darkness almost gone. 
The master, who the thralldom felt far more 
Than slave, is now more free than e'er before. 
Untrammeled men and women will aspire. 
With minds and hearts and souls set free, 
To soar to heights unknown, and ardently desire. 
With every height attained, the strength to go still 
higher 1 



39 



Sweet Symphonies 



Lines Addressed to the Mother of My Dear Friend, 
Mrs. M. L. C, on Her Eighty-First Birthday. 



I. 

Sweet symphonies, I'd sing to-day; 
Come, now, my heart— a tuneful lay! 
I love the truth — she loves it too; 
And, though I pierce the empyrean blue, 
My spirit surely seeks the True 
And Beautiful. Artist Supreme, 
On Thee I call: a poet's dream, 
A painter's skill, a workman's art. 
Come all from Thee: Thou art the Heart 
Of all this breathing, toiling world. 
Though Thou, for pride, archangel hurled. 
The lowliest look to Thee for light, 
And claim from Thee the children's right 
To call on Father, Maker, Friend — 
Or hope, or faith, or aid to send. 
30 



II. 

Sweet symphonies, I'd sing to-day, 

To her, the subject of my lay. 
My friend — I hail thee now four score; 
Not far, I ween, from the heavenly shore; 

The voyage was long, the barque is frail: 

Seems life to thee a brief, swift sail? 

I left the port two scores and more, 

And yet it seems so long before 
I reach the haven; watching drearily, 
Weeping, working, waiting wearily, 

To hear the Boatman boat his oar 

In silent seas — on the silent shore. 
Seems life to thee but short and swift? 
Clouds in the evening speedily rift — 

Down suddenly drops the sinking sun : 

The years go liesurely, one by one ; 

The shadows grow long at set of sun ; 

Then swift and rapid — work is done ; 
Heart-sick and home-sick, wistful we glide, 
'Till we "catch the light on the other side." 

Is it not so? I hail thee now ! 

I envy thee on the life-ship's prow. 
What say I? The Boatman may boat his oar 
And land me first on the heavenly shore. 

31 



III. 

Sweet symphonies I'd sing to-day, 

True and beautiful if I may, 

For her, who well deserves the praise 

Of loving hearts and tuneful lays. 

She lived her life both well and wise; 

And now, behold, "her children rise 

And call her blessed." Is not this 

A boon for earth ; for heaven a bliss? 

Revered, respected, honored, loved — 

My friend, 'tis true, that thou hast proved 

Thy life no failure ; right is right : 

As truth is true, thy right is might ; 

And down the ages yet to be, 

Thy influence, like a wave at sea. 

Will widen ever, more and more. 

Till broken on the eternal shore. 

Thou art growing young, thou art not old ; 

When more than four score years are told, 
Thou wilt still be young, working cheerily, 
Smiling, it may be, or waiting wearily, 

Thy birth into life — the true Life given — 

Immortal youth, in the mansions of Heaven ! 



32 



Little Robin's Palm Tree 



In the tangled sun and shade, 
Underneath a palm tree played 
Little Robin, fairest child. 

When the winds began to blow, 
With the falling of the snow. 
When the birds of passage go ; 

Little Robin too one day, 
From her northern home away, 
Went where orange trees and bay 

Snowy blossoms proudly show ; 
Roses rare and jasmines blow ; 
Where the stately palm trees grow. 

Leaving large ancestral hall, 
Soon beyond the garden wall, 
She would find her playmates all, 

Caroling their sweetest lays ; 
And her antiphone of praise 
Made for her those happy days. 



33 



Happy, under whispering trees; 
Happy, hearing humming bees ; 
Happy, dancing in the breeze. 

Here, a butterfly to chase ; 
There, to kiss the upturned face 
Of a pansy with sweet grace, 

Or, of rosebuds and sweet pinks 
Making chains ; the flower links 
Incense breathing what she thinks. 

Buds and blossoms, rosary beads. 
Counting on them what she needs ; 
Praying truly, prayer succeeds. 

But of all she loved the best 
Underneath the palm to rest ; 
Royal palm tree's royal guest. 

Watching shadows as they pass, 
Weaving lace work on the grass, 
Dreaming day dreams, and, alas ! 

Claiming kinship with the sky. 
Like the azure of her eye ; 
And as clouds went floating by 
34 



She went sailing on them too ; 
On the inverted sea of blue, 
Far beyond all human view ; 

Dreaming fancies false and true, 

As maturer minds will do, 

Till the stars came peeping through : 

Beacon lights in heaven, to show 
Where man's soundings cannot go ; 
Finite minds must ever know 

Something is beyond man's reach, 
Something science cannot teach, 
Something science to appeach. 

Would the Almighty condescend. 
And the finite comprehend, 
Then infinity would end. 

So the little Robin played 

In the tangled sun and shade ; 

Little Endogens waylaid. 

As the stately palms enroll 
Inward life, her growth of soul 
Did her growing life control. 

35 



Wonder did she grow apace, 
With such beauty and such grace, 
With the soul -light in her face? 

When the winter on the wane. 
Stronger grown, she went again 
To her home ; she went, full fain, 

Greeting one than life more dear ; 
She had known her mortal fear ; 
She had seen the unwept tear 

Broken, glistening in the smile 
Mothers' hearts will try awhile 
Sorest anguish to beguile. 

And the child, with sweetest grace. 
Showed how she had grown apace ; 
But the soul -light in her face 

Child nor mother understood : 
In such brightness no one could 
Shadow o'er this motherhood. 

Friends, beloved and left behind. 
Missed the child with wondering mind. 
And the palm tree in the wind 

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Sighed for her at night and morn ; 
Stretched her arms in grief forlorn 
For the child forever gone. 

When the winds again did blow, 
And the falling of the snow 
Made the birds of passage go, 

Little Robin too had flown. 

O, the hearts that ache and moan 

In the cold world, left alone. 

And the palm tree bowed her head, 
Bowed her royal, crowned head ; 
Moaning, wailing for the dead, 

Sighing for the maiden fair : 
Threnody, " O, where ? O, where ? " 
With her last breath, "Where, O, where?" 

Angels bright, beyond our ken, 
Took her to her home again ; 
God ! 'Tis hard to say — Amen ! 

See her with the angel band ! 
Palms of victory in her hand, 
Pointing upward to that land 

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Which but seems so far away ; 
When the mists are cleared away 
We shall see in perfect day. 

Near the old ancestral hall 
Just beyond the garden wall, 
Where they saw the Palm Tree fall, 

In the Southland, Easter tide. 
One that loved the child espied 
There a little Palm, aside 

Of the old one, not apart. 
Springing from the other's heart ; 
Sweetest lesson to impart. 

At Mt. Olivet is found 
Kindred dust in sacred ground, 
And one precious little mound 

Has this Palm tree at its head, 
Sighing still with bowed head, 
Whispering to the sleeping dead 

That again 'tis Easter tide ! 

Mother, may this thought abide. 
Lift your heart, 'tis Eastertide ! 



Home- Coming 



[Inscribed to Col. Frank Cheatham, on Home-Coming of First 
Tennessee Regiment from the Philippines] 



Ring out, proud bells, a gladsome peal ! 

Ye bugles, blow a joyous blast ; 
Shout, all, huzzahs for the soldiers' weal — 

To welcome them home at last ; 
They were the bravest of the brave ; 

They were true Tennesseans ; 
They risked their lives their honor to save ; 

And we must sing their peans. 

A welcome to the "Boys in Blue" — 

Glad welcome from the "Gray:" 
The Blue and Gray wear hearts as true 

As ever fought in any fray ; 
Truth is — in that most dreadful strife. 

When brother met his brother — 
Above the embattled host in life, 

Unseen, there was another; 
And those who fought on either side. 

Fought for the right, " as they saw it ; " 
They were the victors — side by side ; 

God-crowned — as the angels saw it. 

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UN 29 1904 



Men say the valiant Southrons failed; 

That Northern Arms o'er them prevailed, 
But wrong went down for both that day; 

And heroes wore the Blue and Gray. 

While bells for Tennesseans ring, 

Whene'er, where'er they meet us ; 
To-day, for the "Boys in Blue" we sing 

A welcome when they greet us. 
And we, the mothers of the Gray, 

The mothers of the Blue, 
Now, for another campaign, pray 

For soldiers tried and true. 

Ah ! boys, fight the battle of life as well ; 
"Make ready," "take aim" at the hosts of hell, 
Whenever assailed — they strike in the dark ; 
With the armor of Light, you'll not miss your mark ; 
And when "Taps" are sounded, and "Lights are out," 
Reveille will greet you, with joyful shout. 
From the angels who wait at the Golden Gate — 
(Your battles all fought ; your last voyage o'er). 
To bear you in triumph to the other shore, 
And welcome you home, forevermore. 



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